


waiting on you

by clarkesyd



Category: Emma (2020)
Genre: F/M, serious introspection unless u remember knightley running all the way to her house during this part
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-24
Updated: 2020-04-24
Packaged: 2021-03-01 18:08:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23811325
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clarkesyd/pseuds/clarkesyd
Summary: A glimpse at Emma’s thoughts as she made her way home from the ball.
Relationships: George Knightley/Emma Woodhouse
Comments: 8
Kudos: 88





	waiting on you

Emma leaned back against the fine upholstery of the carriage and waited for her breathing to go back to its usual rate. She could recall every detail on Knightley’s face as she departed mere minutes before: the lines on his forehead; the slope of his nose; the shadow covering his cheeks; the plump, parted lips; the bright blue of his eyes that seemed to deem every other colour dull and lifeless in comparison. It was the eyes–he had remarkable eyes–that had left her in this state, not the man behind them. Surely those eyes had never before bored into hers for as long as they did during the previous evening. That must be the issue. Breathtaking eyes indeed.

No. That wasn’t it at all. True that one could lose themself in the depths of them, there was no denying that, but it was the way he had looked at her that made her knees weak, like the girls in stories. She used to write them off as ridiculous creatures, but in the wake of recent events was beginning to reconsider her original assessment. There had been something in Knightley’s gaze that night, something that made her heart race and wish, absurdly, that his touch would linger. And then it _had_.

Emma didn’t know–wasn’t sure she wished to know, in any event–how he had come to affect her so. If she were honest, she had always felt the pull of him, for as long as she could remember. But this feeling, whatever it was, was new. Or rather, she suspected, had developed so quietly she only perceived it once it became too strong to ignore. That bothered her tremendously. How could he awaken such things in her? They had been friends for years, acquaintances before that, and it had never once occurred to her that something might, say, _transpire_ between the two of them. Did he feel it as well? He had to. Or was she simply deluding herself again, seeing what she wished to see instead of what was real? The doubt ate at her. Confronting Knightley was out of the question, and she couldn’t rely on her own instinct anymore. That awful thing and its misguided notions had made her hurt Harriet, so dear to her. She couldn’t afford to be wrong about this too, so she resolved to push it away, put those inconvenient emotions in a neat box at the back of her mind to be examined later on, or–even better–never again.

Again, no. It wouldn’t be as easy as that, she could tell. Insidious thoughts had begun to take root inside her head. How did he feel about her? How did _she_ feel about him? Emma didn’t have a proper answer for either of those questions. Not one that satisfied her. Not one that restored her peace. What could possibly come off of this–she didn’t know what else to call it–spark of attraction? She didn’t plan to marry, ever. And Knightley had made it clear his status as a bachelor wasn’t in risk of changing anytime soon. They would never be man and wife. Of that she was confident.

And yet– _and yet_ –it didn’t strike her as a moment’s fancy. She ought to get to the heart of it, but the possible results gave her pause. Knightley had been safe, before, when he didn’t threaten certain resolutions she had made. Now she didn’t think she could trust herself where it concerned him. What a dangerous idea, and how farfetched it would have seemed not a day before.

Liar, liar, liar. He had ceased to be safe for a while now. Was it since his duet with Miss Fairfax? She had been angry then. Jealous? She remembered being unable to look away, stuck in place, the word _betrayal_ , as nonsensical as it was, flashing before eyes that stung and watered for no apparent reason. The more she analysed it, the more it upset her.

Now she thought of the previous night, of Knightley’s hand on her waist, the warmth exuding from his body. She shut her eyes against the memory, and recognized the futility in attempting to forget.


End file.
